inversion

The air has an inversion smell about it. Like early morning driving along the Pacific Coast Highway before the Santa Ana winds begin to blow. Still and full of mobile vapors of steel-and-plastic in motion. Last night there was an exchange of energies. Actually much of yesterday there were energies moving and moving and moving between hearts and voices, ears and minds. Spinning lives into a fall that comes in the night, chill nights where the sounds of the earth reach only slightly above the treetops, and above is the silence of the mountains washing the air clean of warmth and sound. Wakefulness is complete in every moment. Sleep is a detail of each day, almost lost in the fullness of being. The sun at this moment carries the hinted whiteness of winter, but still holds the yellow of summer. There is no threat of Arctic wild darkness anywhere. Maybe this is too far south for the sun to allow that extremity of being. How touch and all forms of human contact remains core, key, a crux, a necessity for transfer, recharging, sharing energy. Without this function, there can be no growth. I continue construction of the student web site. Sitting at the computer almost all the day. This late Indian Summer day, snow threatening above 9000 feet. and I find myself unable to write as freely as in the past for the simple reason of being part of a closed system here in this State of place-being-mind. For to explore the actuality of what is happening would be to reveal far too much than should be revealed in such a public forum as this.